


Escape

by saracenknows



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saracenknows/pseuds/saracenknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma thinks of escaping, finding somewhere they can hide. Somewhere they can forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She thinks of escaping. Finding somewhere they can hide, somewhere they can forget. Him with a scar on his neck, her with blood on her hands. 

He has blood on his hands too. She forgets that sometimes, but she remembers the empty look in his eyes, the way he shook. It didn't change him the way it changed her. Guilt, yes, but not the same. He did it out of fear, out of need, out of desperation and love. He did it to protect. She did it for anger and hatred. 

He killed the guilty. She killed the wrong man.

Not innocent, not innocent by far, but the wrong man, the wrong one, the wrong death. The wrong blood on her hands. 

She thinks of escaping, hiding away in Scotland. Somewhere that tastes like home, where his accent fits, where his lungs remember the cool air.

She imagines it, hiding. Getting mundane jobs and mundane lives and trying to forget. He wears high collared shirts and she buries her hands in the dirt, trying to coax something into life. A garden of flowers to mourn the dead, to mourn the living, to mourn the lives they had, the lives they could have had.

She imagines it, burying her hands in the dirt, burying her hands in his. Finding a way to make it work, a way to forget, a way to forgive. Blood and dirt and tears and pain, hoping that it can all be washed away with Scottish rain. 

She thinks of escaping, and wonders if they could ever manage it.


	2. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They chose this place for a reason. Somewhere full of dirt and grime, somewhere falling apart, somewhere they fit.

They step off the train at a tiny little station on the north west coast of Scotland, and the wind buffets her, sends her hair flying around her face. She looks at Fitz and takes his hand, just for a moment, because they're safer than they've been in years but she still feels like she's standing on a precipice. After a moment, they let go. They have bags to carry and need their hands, but she can still feel the warmth of his skin against hers and that is enough.

They have a small, slightly run down house with a garden and miles of empty land around them. Three bedrooms, living room, kitchen. Jemma takes one of the bedrooms and looks at the mould creeping up one of the walls. It doesn't matter. It's theirs, it's safe. It's home. They take separate bedrooms, parting at the top of the stairs with a quiet goodnight. Jemma lies in bed staring at the dark ceiling and thinks that she could use something to stare at, and she listens to Fitz toss and turn in the room next to hers. They start work the next day, scrubbing the walls and cleaning out the cupboards. It's a mess, but Jemma sees Fitz cringing at whatever just scuttled out of one of their kitchen cupboards and laughs, and when he hears her he smiles, just a little. 

They chose this place for a reason. They had money, bank accounts left virtually untouched for years, a steady accumulation of high wages. But they chose somewhere full of dirt and grime, somewhere falling apart, somewhere they fit. 

Slowly, they clean and they fix and they make it beautiful again. Fitz goes out to buy new curtains and comes back with glow in the dark stars that he sticks to her bedroom ceiling. 

There's a window in the hallway that you can see the stars from. She find him there one night, staring up at a cloudy sky. "You can see the stars just fine from my room"  
He looks at her, and it takes a minute but eventually he nods, and she takes his hand and leads him into her room, and together they lay on her bed and look up at the glowing plastic stars. She wakes up with her head pressed against his shoulder and his elbow digging into her ribs and she cries. And she smiles. 

They keep going, keep fixing, keep building. She takes the third bedroom for a study and he turns the shed into a workspace and in the evenings they come together, meeting in the kitchen to take pieces and make a whole. 

She buys chickens. He shakes his head at her but she sees him watching them from the kitchen window and smiles. In the shed he builds and takes apart and reassembles. One day he comes out with a chicken coop and she kisses him on the cheek and swears he blushes. They seem almost too old for that, too weary. Blushing is something they did when they were children, before they had these scars. 

One day over breakfast he suggests getting a dog. They find a young border collie that Fitz falls in love with, and Jemma can't stop smiling.  
What are we going to call it? She asks.  
Meitner he says, and she smiles.

Jemma wakes up at six in the morning and feeds the chickens. Fitz wakes up at seven and walks the dog. They meet at eight for breakfast, and their days get a little brighter. Moods grow darker with the setting sun and haunting memories, but the stars in Jemma's bedroom always give off just enough light for them to have hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog is named after Lise Meitner, a scientist from the 19th-20th century, known for her work on radioactivity and nuclear physics.


	3. Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These things take time. She knows this.

The air gets warmer and the ground softer and Jemma takes a shovel and starts to dig. She has no seeds, no bulbs, nothing to do but dig, so that's what she does. Digs until the sweat pours off her and the earth is freshly turned. The next day they go out and buy seeds; flowers and vegetables, and Jemma buries her hands in the dirt, plants seeds and tries to leave behind all she is carrying.

Days pass. Shoots grow. Fitz smiles more and Jemma feels like she is being stitched back together, slowly, carefully.

She plants an apple tree in the back garden. It will be years before it bears any fruit, but she is willing to wait. These things take time. She knows this.

Fitz gets a job. Working in a garage, easy stuff, too easy for him. But she thinks that maybe Fitz has spent too long working with his mind, turning over problem after problem after problem until his mind itself became the problem, the endless months of unfinished sentences and overflowing frustration. She thinks that maybe Fitz works at the garage for the same reason she spends so much time in the garden. They’re both just looking for something to do with their hands. 

Every morning he wakes up and walks the dog, and they eat breakfast together. He leaves at 7:30, and returns at 5:30, covered in sweat and oil and grime. And occasionally, just sometimes, in smiles. 

Jemma thinks about writing, about research, about studying. She thinks about it, and then goes out into the garden and thinks of the feeling of the earth against her hands, thinks about the sound of the birds and the warmth of Meitner’s breath, panting against her leg. Fitz comes home and they cook dinner together. He tells her about his day and she tells him about hers, and it’s just so strange, because she never imagined their lives turning out like this. Maybe in fifty years’ time, when they were both old and grey and tired. But not now, less than thirty years old and already tired, already going grey.

He comes home one day and just sobs. He cries and cries, and his hands leave dirty oil stains on the back of her shirt but it doesn’t really matter, she never really liked that shirt anyway. She kisses the tears from his cheeks and the taste reminds her of the sea, and she thinks first of the beach and sand between her toes and wind in her hair, and there’s a moment before she remembers the pod, the way her hands shook and the crushing feeling that threatened to consume her. She cries too, but she thinks this is a good thing. She thinks maybe they’re healing.


End file.
